Page 44 of A Lady's Wager
They stared at one another, and though Etta felt several points of argument arise, it felt wrong to make the counter.
“If Rachel loves him,” Mr. Firth said, his voice soft, “you should find a way to help her have him, not convince her to turn against her heart.”
Him again. Not Reed.
“Rachel is a child.”
“I was seventeen when I met Laura, also a child. And I was absolutely right. I cannot imagine my path if someone had convinced me not to believe that what I felt was real. It would have been the tragedy of my life.”
“And when she died?” Etta heard herself say before she realized she’d decided to say it. “Was it not the greatest tragedy of your life? Compounded by the love you had let yourself feel?”
He pulled back, the shock of her words showing on his face. She should apologize, she knew that she should, but she also knew that in a relatively short time, they were going to arrive at the house party in Luton and Reed would not be there and then Mr. Firth would know what his silly beliefs in conquering love could do. They could convince two young people to act on rash and ridiculous notions to the point where their futures were changed forever.
He turned to look out his window without responding. She turned to look out of hers.
ETTA HAD NOT THOUGHT TOeat before leaving London, and it was pushing three o’clock when they passed St. Mary’s church in the village. Mr. Firth had leaned back on his cushions and put his hat over his eyes after their last exchange. She doubted he could sleep amid the rumblings of the carriage and believed he just didn’t want to talk to her anymore. She couldn’t blame him for that. The words she’d said kept echoing back to her—they’d been too harsh. They’d hurt him. Yet they had been the truth.
The carriage driver stopped to ask directions, rousing Mr. Firth, and then continued through the village before turning down a narrow drive. She straightened in her seat, trying to see ahead of them almost as though she expected Rachel to be here—which she did not. Her thoughts moved forward to what would happen next.
Mr. Firth would still help her once he realized that Reed had run off with Rachel, but would he be contemptable about it? Especially after what she’d said about love having cankered his children? And what if the grooms did not find the couple in their searches of the inns? The chances of being able to hide this indiscretion and preserve Rachel’s reputation and prospectswould be far more limited than they already were if she weren’t found before nightfall.
Regardless of when they found Rachel—they would find her eventually—her foray in London was over. Even if they could hide what she’d done, Etta would not continue the sponsorship; in fact, she was unsure she’d ever sponsor another girl again. She had not protected Rachel from men who would take advantage, and she had not succeeded in helping her find the security she’d promised. That was the truest tragedy of this entire experience. She’d promised Rachel’s parents to take care of their daughter, and it had all come to this.
“Mrs. Markshire.”
The carriage was beginning to slow as Etta met his eyes.
“I apologize for what I said,” Mr. Firth said.
She wasn’t exactly sure what he was apologizing for but was grateful for the opportunity it afforded her. “As do I.”
“And, um, if Reed is not here, I want you to know that I will do all that I can to make this right.”
Etta just nodded, her heart in her throat as the carriage came to a full stop. Mr. Firth opened the door from the inside and stepped down, then put out his hand to help her. It put them in close proximity, like that first night when he’d held her wig in place—she was embarrassed to think of that again—and she inhaled the scent of his cologne that she’d noted that first night and in his bedroom earlier that day. It made her nervous to be noticing such things, and she let go of his hand as quickly as she could.
They ascended the front steps together. The door was opened before they knocked; likely, the staff had been alerted by the carriage wheels.
“May I help you?” a thick-set butler asked in precise tones.
“I am here to see a guest at the house party,” Mr. Firth said. “Mr. Reed Firth.”
“Very good, sir. Let me show you to the front parlor while I get him—I believe the men are playing games out on the back lawn.”
Etta and Mr. Firth shared a look of equal confusion and curiosity. Did the butler’s response mean that Reed was here? Or did the butler mean to defer the giving of information to the host?
They were shown to a large and well-appointed parlor. Mr. Firth went to the window and looked out on a garden of some sort while Etta sat. After only a few seconds she was too nervous to sit, so she stood and began to walk the room, taking in the décor without seeing any of it.
“What if he’s not here?” Mr. Firth said quietly but loud enough for Etta to hear.
“We go to the rendezvous point with the grooms.” She had little doubt this would be their course. Oh, how she hoped the grooms had caught up with them!
“What if they are…compromised?” Mr. Firth said. “Will we have them marry?”
“That is not my decision to make,” Etta said, the butterflies in her stomach increasing to ridiculous proportions at the reminder that she would have to explain this to Nathan and his wife.
“Right,” Mr. Firth said, taking a deep breath and then letting it out. “Reed did not even want to come to London. Would that I had listened.”
Etta turned to look at Mr. Firth’s back. “What?”
